


Αἱ ἡμεραι ὑπο κυνα ἐτελευτησαν, or: Exercise 66

by BluWacky



Category: Greek Prose Composition - M. A. North & A. E. Hillard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 09:30:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2807690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluWacky/pseuds/BluWacky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ὠ παλαι, ὠ παλαι<br/>ἐν τινι κοσμω ἐκτοπωτατω...</p><p>(story in English.  Excuse the lack of iota subscripts above.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Αἱ ἡμεραι ὑπο κυνα ἐτελευτησαν, or: Exercise 66

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fadeverb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeverb/gifts).



On the planet of Athens, there was consternation among the Ekklesia.  Well, there had to be – otherwise, Timokleia reasoned, as she stood and waited, they would not have asked her to be there.

This was hardly an unusual circumstance; in trying to keep an entire planet in order there was often much to be consternated about.  The Theatron, the vast entertainment complex where the Ekklesia was meeting, swarmed with security, not only from the various visiting foreign dignitaries but also the more local police force.  The building was a hive of nervous activity; the bright screens that usually advertised coming attractions were powered down, the building suffused instead with the sound of muted, tense conversation.  Timokleia had been somewhat startled as a Proboulos – one of the ruling dignitaries of Athens – had floated past her, its jellyfish-esque tentacles twitching back and forth in thought; it was rare to see them mixing with the common citizenry due to their official duties, but the occasion was clearly one of great irregularity.

Timokleia had been kept waiting in a strikingly well kept holding room for some time.  The smell of excess wood polish on the sparkling floors made her slightly woozy.  The walls were festooned with artistic representations of some of Athens’s great triumphs; a picture of Hieron of Syracuse was strikingly animated,  his electric horse crackling as he crossed the finish line in the Games at the floating mountain of Olympia.  Timokleia had only competed in the Games once – one more time than any other woman on the planet – and a faint smile crossed her face at the memory of being chased by an angry crowd when her holographic cloaking device had faltered after a particularly brutal round of _pankration_ and it had become immediately apparent that she was not appropriately _endowed_ for the occasion.

But that was another story.

A wooden panel slid noiselessly open; Timokleia’s hand slid just as noiselessly to her belt.  Her holster was empty, her gun given up on entry to the Theatron – a minor setback, but not an insurmountable one.  She relaxed, however, as an official in a shrunken suit stepped through the panel and beckoned her to follow him; clearly a mandarin, only a bureaucratic threat rather than a mortal one.  With one last look at the room Timokleia stepped through, the panel shutting behind her as she walked down a short corridor to the main Theatron meeting room itself.

Timokleia was led out onto the main staging area of the Theatron. The Theatron was essentially a series of vast hangars, easily configurable into a variety of seating arrangements depending on the nature of entertainment to be provided; intimacy did not feature in the Athenian mindset when it came to performance.  Here, in the main staging area, Timokleia found herself stood alone on a long, rectangular stage.  Lit by a harsh white glare, she looked up momentarily to see if she could spot the lighting rig; wherever it was, it produced an enormous amount of heat as well as light.

Although she could not see well thanks to the lighting, Timokleia surmised that the Ekklesia would be seated above and in front of her; as her eyes adjusted she could make out faint shapes suspended in the darkness ahead, stretching up and up and around and around.  Each member would be seated – if they could sit, that is – and watching her intently. Not Timokleia’s preferred situation – she liked to see her enemies, not be seen – but again, only a minor inconvenience.

There was silence in the Theatron.  Timokleia cleared her throat with a level of deliberate ostentation. She refused to stand to attention, but could not help but murmur a brief prayer to the God of entertainment, Dionysus, under her breath – there was no sense in making the Gods angry, after all. She’d had run-ins with them too many times for that.

Yet more silence.  Something buzzed in her ear; a communication from her ship, no doubt.  She ignored it.

“Timokleia.” Countless voices spoke at once, filtered through the universal translator systems linked throughout the chamber – races and creatures, some of whom that could not even speak, communicating as one.  The Athenians were always one for a unified voice – now, with representatives of all the so-called “Greek” planets in attendance, the effect was both harmonious and cacophonous at once.

“Yes.” Timokleia spoke flatly.  “And no, I don’t know why you have brought me here.  If you were to tell me, I’d appreciate it.”  No sense in letting them drone on dramatically about it, she felt.

There was a slight hesitance in the Ekklesian chorus.  “Very well.   I assume you are you aware of our continuing tensions with the planet Mycenae?”

Out of the blinding light a shimmering hologram was projected that Timokleia could just make out, depicting a rotating image of the planet. Timokleia had only ever seen photographs or film footage of Mycenae before, yet it remained instantly recognisable; there were few known planets with no visible landmass, and the striking blueness of the planet’s oceanic surfaces had made their way into many a piece of artwork.

Timokleia shrugged.  “Two of the galaxy’s greatest naval powers at loggerheads over possession of a tiny landlocked asteroid? It’s your business, not mine.”

“Plataea-“ a picture of the asteroid flashed up “is no mere asteroid.”

Timokleia was more than aware of the political ramifications over the ownership of Plataea.  The asteroid was entirely made of silver - a mining opportunity even greater than the vast industrial operations of the Athenians in the country of Laurium. While the Athenians purely saw it as an opportunity for wealth, the Mycenaeans needed a near endless supply of silver in order to purify the vast oceans of their planet; without it they would eventually die out through disease.  Matters were overly complicated by its location; Plateaea was located in the Boeotian Quadrant, and therefore technically came under the jurisdiction of the planet of Thebes.  Thebes itself was hardly a concern, its ruling monarchy rocked by a series of salacious scandals and easily influenced by larger planets; however, as Timokleia was dully aware from the endless talking heads news programmes she had seen recently, both Athens and Mycenae had attempted to negotiate exclusive access to Plataea, and discussions were going nowhere 

“I’m aware of that.”  Timokleia spoke drily. “You are aware that negotiations are not my strongpoint, presumably.”  Timokleia did not like to negotiate at all, if she were frank. She also did not like that the Ekklesia were well aware that Thebes was her home planet.

“Indeed not.  We do not want you to negotiate.”  The voices boomed and echoed around her.  “We need you to get someone who can.”

There was a catch in Timokleia’s voice.  “As you are undoubtedly aware, I am not the best person to help you with that any more.”

“You once worked with the greatest negotiator of them all.  Together you stole gold – _Persian_ gold – from the very encampment of Darius himself.  You crossed the Hellespont Nebula with one of his armadas giving chase and evaded them. You-”

 “Cut the theatrics.  I know that I am in no way superior to him.  Have you forgotten his name?”  Timokleia was unimpressed; this was not something she wanted to be reminded of.  “Alcibiades is long dead.  He was slain.  By a man named Harpax. A Thracian by race, if you recall.”

“We do.  We recall everything.”  Timokleia’s spine tingled involuntarily; was one of the Probouloi drifting directly above her?  It was impossible to tell where the voices were coming from.  “We also recall what happened when you tracked him down at Mycale.”

Timokleia smiled toothlessly. “I was undercover.”

“You lured him into a Bacchic ritual and literally tore him to pieces.”

“I got caught up in the moment. Like I said, I was undercover.   He was an _unfortunate_ casualty.”

“Regardless, we are sympathetic. Your exploits with Alcibiades were legendary, if a little infamous.  We felt you therefore may be interested in a transmission we picked up from Mycenae two days ago.”

The white lights went off and the room was filled only with the sound of a grainy audio transmission. The recording echoed and crackled as a voice began to speak.

“If there’s anyone out there… I am not one for begging, but I could really use some help right now.”

Timokleia pursed her lips. The voice was unmistakeable – but it couldn’t be him.  She had seen the body, after all.

The voice continued, whispering. “If anyone does hear this, I am being held captive on the planet of Mycenae.  That ridiculous robotic King of theirs is threatening to execute me in the next few days.  I can assure you this was nothing but a simple misunderstanding.  I was simply conducting an investigation as I wished to know whether the Athenians or the Thebans were in possession of Plataea; it turns out the Mycenaeans had other ideas.”

Timokleia snorted despite herself.  Alcibiades had undoubtedly tried to create his own private trade agreement with the Thebans; clearly Mycenae considered this to be more than a little underhand.

“I don’t suppose anyone will actually come and help me; technically I’m already dead for reasons far too complicated to mention if you don’t know the specifics.“  Alcibiades sounded frustrated behind the cut-glass precision of his accent.  “Why am I babbling on like this? Anyway, I would be enormously grateful if someone could get me off this _fucking_ planet as soon as possible _._ Thanks in advance."

The transmission ended and the lights blinked back in their full intensity.  Timokleia raised a hand to her eyes for a moment as they watered slightly.

“We thought you might find this interesting. Will you not help the Greeks? You may find it most beneficial in many ways.”

“Ha.”  Timokleia was not amused.  “Fine.  You know I will be taking my crew with me, of course? 

“Of course.  We would expect nothing less.”

“Funding?”

“The treasury of the Acropolis is open to you.  Take what you need. No-one can negotiate as well as Alcibiades.”

“Payment?”

“To be discussed. Surely knowing that he is alive is mere payment enough for now?”

“Who would have thought?” Timokleia did laugh now, genuinely, despite herself.  “You’re right.  He _is_ more important than payment.  For now.”  She turned to go. “Don’t wish me luck.”

The Ekklesia did not do so.

=

The door to the _Pneumata,_ Timokleia’s spaceship, opened with a slightly lacklustre “phut” noise.  At least this time, Timokleia reasoned, it hadn’t tried to spray superheated steam all over her as it did so.  The rest of the ship was in pretty good shape, she felt – she just couldn’t get the damn door to work properly.

“Welcome back, Timokleia!” Three small, spherical robots floated in front of her, sweeping to the side as Timokleia made her way back to the cockpit. They chirruped together in high-pitched, metallic voices.

“Hina, chart a course for Mycenae. Hōs, I need you to run diagnostic checks on the bathysphere.”  Two of the robots flew off down different corridors of the spacecraft, burbling away to themselves as they did so.  “Hopōs?” The remaining robot floated expectantly. “Make me a cup of tea, please.”

“Just the way you like it.” The small robot flew off, nearly thwacking into the sides of the corridor as its circuitry consumed itself with the important business of beverage production.

Timokleia entered the cockpit and leapt over the pilot’s seat, strapping herself in quickly and initiating various take-off procedures; this part at least was second nature to her.  The cockpit began to vibrate slightly as the engines whirred into life; she quickly radioed through to traffic control to confirm that she was able to lift off without crashing into any of the visiting dignitaries. 

“So,” came a gravelly voice from next to her.  “Alcibiades.”

“Not really looking to talk about it right now, Nicias,” Timokleia muttered as she watched the doors of the hangar where the _Pneumata_ was parked judder open in front of the ship.  She turned her head slightly to address her co-pilot.

Working with something that was essentially a large, sentient lump of rock was always interesting. Timokleia had once asked an old pathologist friend of hers how something with no mouth (or, to be fair, a face, or any other means of breathing) could speak.  The answer, it had turned out after a glass of wine and much thumbing through an old textbook, lay in the piezoelectric properties of the quartz that made up the entirety of Nicias’s body.  It seemingly produced electrical impulses that caused the quartz to vibrate in particular ways, thus generating intelligible speech. Timokleia had never cared to ask Nicias _how_ it generated any kind of neurological response when it did not appear to have a brain – it was not really the point of their partnership.  Besides, it would probably just turn towards her, silica trickling slowly through whatever its equivalent of veins were, and ‘stare’ most unnervingly.

“Fine,” Nicias rumbled.  “When you do, we will. Most importantly, he owes me for dinner.”

“Five years ago, Nicias.  Let it lie.” The _Pneumata_ boosted into the air, its landing legs retracting noisily into the base of the spacecraft, before Timokleia guided it out of the hangar.

“I do not let things lie, Timokleia.  I am a giant rock; things tend to stay put in my mind.  He said he had no money; I am pleased that he can now pay up.”

“How touching,” Timokleia shouted over the noise of the engines.  “Me too.”

As the _Pneumata_ headed out into space, the blue skies of Athens darkening into inky blackness, Timokleia relaxed a little. This was not quite what she had been expecting – but in both good and bad ways.

 

=

“Wake up, Timokleia!”  Hina was unreasonably perky.  Then again, that was how Timokleia had programmed it to be – she only had herself to blame.

Timokleia’s eyes flipped open immediately and she focused on her surroundings. She was used to quick awakenings. Was she not the woman who had fled the chitinous hordes of the Persians at a second’s notice?

But that was another story… perhaps.

Outside she could see little but the blackness of space; she had gone to sleep a few hours ago to prepare for a jump into folded space, but clearly they had drawn close enough to Mycenae for Hina to bring them back into ordinary space-time. Nicias, connected via a tangle of myriad wires into the ship’s computer, silently monitored various key systems – much easier to do when “patience” is a concept to be explained rather than understood.

“Tea?” Hopōs floated in the doorway, ever hopeful.

“Yes, tea,” said Timokleia, waving her hand in irritation.  Hopōs flew off, burbling merrily to itself.

“Bathysphere checks complete, Timokleia,” came Hōs’s voice from somewhere behind her. ‘Hull integrity secure. Torpedoes armed. Fuel tanks at maximum. Batteries charged. Propellors at 100% efficiency.”

“Let’s run through the plan, then.  Hina, brief me.”

“Hurray!” Hina’s voice module almost distorted with happiness.  “Lights down, Nicias!”

There was something approaching a _sigh_ from the venerable co-pilot as the lights in the cockpit dimmed.

“Mycenae has no harbour,” Hina said, flashing up a complicated hologram above itself to which Timocleia paid little immediate attention (she had, after all, come up with most of this plan herself), “so we must enter via transference through the Lion Gate.”   The Lion Gate was the standard access point to Mycenae; due to a strange gravitational anomaly Mycenae was not just an oceanic planet, but one that formed a perfect sphere of water with no atmosphere.  The Lion Gate had been constructed by visitors millennia ago as a “landing platform” on the edge of Mycenaean space; access to the single settlement that made up Mycenae, a sprawling metropolis of coral and organic matter that spread across the depths of the planet, was mainly restricted to those species of creature that could both breath underwater and withstand the massive sub-aquatic pressures.  

“Once there, we can eject the _Pneumata’_ s bathysphere through the Gate and you can make your way down to the settlement. Once you’re there… well, you haven’t told me what the plan is.  Undoubtedly King Agamemnon will know of our arrival-”

“There is no plan.”  Timokleia spoke nonchalantly.  “I have no idea where Alcibiades is, or if he is even still alive.  I have no idea when that transmission was sent, or even if the Ekklesia are just stringing me along as a pawn in their political games. As for that robotic imbecile Agamemnon and the rest of the gibbering aquatic idiots in Mycenae…”

“I must interject,” Nicias rumbled, “on the conflict of interests here. Long before I came to work with you, as you will remember, I had an… understanding with Agamemnon. Having formerly conferred many benefits on the King, I shall not now attack him.”

“I know, Nicias, I know.”  Timokleia sighed. “Insomuch as rocks can _have_ a love life, you could have picked something better, surely?”

Nicias was quiet for a moment.  “I hear he spent some time on Persepolis recently.  I hope he enjoyed the Persian lifestyle.” 

Hina was not programmed to deal with such conversations.  It hung in the air, unsure whether it was still required or what its purpose might be at present.  Hopōs flew back in to the cockpit, grasping a cup of steaming tea with two tiny but incredibly strong robotic arms that extended out of hidden compartments in its casing; it placed the tea carefully down on the side of the captain’s chair where Timokleia sat before withdrawing to a corner in order to await instructions.

Timokleia stared out the cockpit once more.  Space stretched ahead of her, vast and dark.

“How long does five years seem to you, Nicias?”

“I am a practical creature.  I may call Athens home, but I am no philosopher.  Five years are of little consequence to me.  There are a few nicks and chinks in my exoskeleton that were not there before, and I have perceived people and places I would never have seen before. Including Sicily.”

It _really_ wouldn’t let this one go. “For the _seventeenth_ time, Nicias, Sicily did not go according to pla-“

Could a lump of rock twinkle mischievously?  It certainly would not be in character for Nicias to do so.  “Regardless, time has seen us change.  I would prefer not to recall you as you were five years ago, Timokleia. It was… messy.

“I am _really_ angry right now. Not with you, obviously. Him.”

“Understandable. He does owe me for dinner.”

“True.” Timokleia rolled her eyes. “You’re right. It was messy.  _I_ was messy. I’m not exactly proud of some of the things I did back then.”

“That would be an understatement.”

“Oh, come on. You enjoyed some of it.”

“Did you?”

Timokleia thought for a moment.  “Not at first. I was… well, I was a bit upset. How’s that for litotes? All that… was my way of forgetting about it.   I suppose ending up on an intergalactic wanted list kept my mind off things. “

“You assassinated the King of Thebes by pushing him into a gravity well. That was more than distracting yourself from grief.”

“Oedipus was an idiot.  Never even saw it coming.” Timokleia threw her arms out towards the windows.  “Look, Nicias – or perceive, or whatever is you do.  See all that out there?  It’s darkness. It’s vacuum.  If I went out there now I’m sure I’d freeze to death, or pop, or something equally dramatic.  It goes on pretty much forever, as far as I know, and it doesn’t want me to be there.”

“You’re going to explain something to a hunk of rock by using a _metaphor_ , aren’t you _._ I will tell you now I shall not understand it.”

“But that’s not all there is!”  Timokleia was warming up to the performance; she unstrapped herself from her seat and sprang up. Hina and Hōs bobbed in the air to watch; Hopōs had gone to find something to dunk in the tea. “There’s light, too. Sure, there are also disgusting giant insects attempting to enslave the free universe, or petty political disputes, or treasures to steal or people to kill or wonders to see or… whatever. But none of that would be there without those tiny little pinpricks of light you can see out there.”

“Giant balls of flaming gas, yes."

“You have no poetry in your soul, Nicias.  How is it you think yourself to be Athenian?  Look, the point is… the light shows you what’s out there – what it’s worth being here for. Five years ago, I didn’t _want_ there to be light.  I was just space, and vacuum, and I filled my world with even more vacuum. Every time that light started shining through I snuffed it out.  I didn’t _want_ to be happy without him. I’ve done a good job of being generally grumpy for a long time.  But now? Now that he appears to be alive? It’s like every star in the universe is blazing hot.  And that’s… really _pissing_ me off right now.”

Hina beeped suddenly.  “Arrival at destination is imminent!”

Hopōs flew back into the room.  “Time for tea before we land?”

Timokleia returned to her seat wearily.  “No, no time for that.  No time for anything. Let’s just sit back and wait for arrival.”

Nothing like a bit of peace and quiet for now, she thought.

=

 

A few hours later, Timokleia reflected ironically on this as sirens shrilled blaringly inside the bathysphere. 

“Danger! Danger!  Alert!  Execute evasive action!”  Hōs shrieked in alarm. Hopōs had hidden itself under the pilot’s chair of the bathysphere and was now rolling around on the floor, pretending to be inactive.

“Status report!” Timokleia shouted, scanning the bathysphere’s viewscreens as she grabbed the control stick tightly.  All she could see was water.

“We perceived that three men were following us to the city.  Deploying torpedoes!”  Hōs issued a series of squeals and beeps that activated something in the bathysphere’s systems.  With a groan and a whoosh, Timokleia heard torpedoes jet out of the base of the bathysphere and speed off behind them, as the contrails of _something_ whizzed past her to one side.  She scrambled the bathysphere into a barrel roll – not easy with something perfectly spherical – and ventured a quick look behind her.

The Mycenaeans knew they were there, of course; entry through the Lion Gate was strictly tracked.  A horde of misshapen aquatic creatures thronged in the darkness behind them.  Eel-like monstrosities undulated through the waters, antennae sparking with some kind of electricity that pinged and crackled in arcs close to the bathysphere’s path.  Creatures that seemed a mockery of both man and fish propelled themselves along with great misshapen appendages that seemed to grasp at the waves, threatening to crush anything in their path.  There were even their own bathyspheres, piloted by multi-tentacled creatures floating in the midsts, firing missiles dread and unknown (and undoubtedly horrifically destructed) at Timokleia and her crew.  She watched for a split second as one of her own torpedoes hit the mob and felt the bathysphere rock slightly from the force of the impact; the plexiglass coating was soundproof, which dampened the inhuman cries from the seabound brood behind her. 

“Incoming.” Nicias chose not to emote with an exclamation.  “Protocol Anakata. All non-essential crew evacuate.”

Timokleia deftly nudged the bathysphere about, almost juddering its way through the water as it bobbed up and down, weaving between whatever weaponry the Mycenaeans were throwing at her.  She kicked at a button beneath her feet to charge the bathysphere’s lasers, heat building up behind her as it geared up for firing.  Hina, Hōs and Hopōs, as Nicias had instructed, slotted themselves into a small airlock in the roof of the bathysphere; after a brief moment as locks engaged, there was a small gasp as the airlock launched them immediately out and propelled them roughly in the direction of the _Pneumata_ through use of a tracking beacon.

Missiles were coming thick and fast.  Something struck the bathysphere; Timokleia whipped her head round to see some kind of limpet creature with teeth as sharp as diamond attempting to bore its way through the hull.  Another lurch; swarms of the creatures had attached themselves, crowding the plexiglass until it was impossible to see where she was going.

“Lasers at 90%,” called Nicias, giving no trace of urgency in its voice. “No visuals.  No audio.  No anything.  I have no idea where we are."

The bathysphere rocked heavily as something collided with it, knocking it spinning.  Timokleia screamed "Fire!" before she jerked forward and over, the bathysphere tumbling down through the water.

"Firing."  Nicias spoke briefly.  "We will crash."

Searing heat blasted around the bathysphere as it tumbled; the on-board laser cannon fired, a wide wave of arcing red death that sliced through the seas and schismed in every direction.  The limpet-like creatures were incinerated in the blast, falling away in shredded tatters oozing blood and flesh.  Timokleia had the briefest of moments to see through the glass ahead that an ominous structure loomed up at them before the bathysphere crashed into it and she blacked out.

 

=

 

“AS DAWN ARISES, FRESH AND ROSY-FINGERED, AWAKEN, WOMAN AND ROCK-THING.”

Timokleia stirred groggily at the sound of a voice, cold and mechanical.  Her eyes swam as she listened to it echo strangely about her; she could immediately tell she was not in a cavernous space and yet the voice seemed to be bouncing around. She appeared to be standing up, to her slight surprise; how had she got… wherever she was?

She felt the nudge of something hard behind her and twisted her head back, taking care not to wince at the pain she felt. She was a little startled to see a sleek, shiny, polished metal head attached to a similar body, holding some kind of stick – probably an electrified truncheon or similar.

Robots.  Of course.

To her left she could see Nicias was also there, although he had not been afforded a similar guard for some reason. Quite why he hadn’t broken the two of them out of there yet, she thought, she was not sure.

“WOMAN.  TIMOKLEIA OF THEBES.”  The voice clunked out its statements, garbling slightly as it did so.

Timokleia worked out what the echo was as her eyes adjusted.  Wherever she was, she was surrounded by countless video screens, all of which showed a single picture; a large, human-esque eye.  It blinked occasionally, tens of screens with tens of eyes each trained on her and Nicias.  Presumably there was some kind of speaker system relaying the same message over and over again from the figure behind the screens – and she was well aware now of who that would be.

“King Agamemnon.”  Timokleia attempted to sound as breezy as possible. “How delightful. How’s your brother doing?”

“ENOUGH.  YOU HAVE TRESPASSED ON MY PLANET.  YOU HAVE SENT THE SOULS OF MANY BRAVE WARRIORS DOWN TO HADES.”

“They did try and kill me first-“ Timokleia felt the sharp prod in her back of the truncheon.

“I think,” whispered Nicias almost imperceptibly, “it would be _expedient_ for us to obey the laws here. Not antagonising the King, for instance."

“SILENCE, ROCK-THING.  I HAVE NOT CHAINED YOU IN MEMORY OF THE TIMES WE SHARED. I SHALL NOT BE SO MINDFUL AGAIN.”

Nicias fell quiet.  It almost looked bashful.

“WHY ARE YOU HERE?  HAVE YOU COME TO TAKE MYCENAE?  WHY DO YOU THINK IT WILL BE EASY TO CONQUER THIS COUNTRY, NAY, THIS PLANET?”

“That is not why we are here, Your Majesty,” said Timokleia.  “We are here for someone we believe may be staying with you.”

The eye narrowed.  “YOU SPEAK OF ALCIBIADES, SON OF CLEINIAS. HE WHO POURS OUT WORDS LIKE THE SNOWS OF WINTER.  HE IS MOST IRRITATING.

“Yes, Your Majesty.  We would-”

“HE IS MINE.  MY PRIZE.  MY HONOUR. MINE!” The eye grew wide with rage; the sound distorted from the speakers, causing Nicias to shake slightly as if it would shatter.  The robotic guard behind Timokleia buzzed for a moment, as if overwhelmed by static interference.  “YOU SHALL NOT DEPRIVE ME OF MY HONOUR!”

“Do I not get a say in this, you ridiculous monstrosity?”  a muffled voice came from Timokleia’s right, where she had not been aware of anyone.

 _Him_!

“SILENCE.  YOU ARE MINE, ALCIBIADES, AND YOU SHALL NOT SPEAK.  YOU ARE MY SLAVE.  IT IS FITTING FOR A SLAVE TO USE FEW WORDS. IF ONLY YOU WERE MINDFUL OF THIS.”

“Bugger that,” said Alcibiades, "for a game of soldiers.  You've kept me cooped up in a coral cell for however long it's been, I'm feeling positively loquacious.  You threw me in there with some gibbering idiot from Tiryns who could barely hold a conversation.  Honestly, gave him some advice for his trial hearing, on the following day he told me he had already forgotten my words and that if I didn't shut up he'd commit suicide.  Shame about the mess, really."

Yes, it was definitely him – that same rakish grin and ridiculous hair as always.  God, he was  _irritating._

"ENOUGH OF THIS PRATTLE.  YOU ARE SPIES SENT HERE FROM ATHENS.  DO YOU SUPPOSE YOU WILL MAKE IT BACK TO THE BLACK SHIPS OF THE ACHAEANS NOW?  YOUR GODS ARE NOT HERE TO HELP YOU.  ONLY COLD HARD SCIENCE."

"And fish people." added Alcibiades helpfully.  "Can't forget the fish people.  Can't forget how they smell, either."  Alcibiades lisped slightly, pronouncing the word "thmell".  Timokleia smiled.

"I think this is quite enough of the charade, Agamemnon."  Another voice, strange and high-pitched, punctuated by a skittering noise on the floor ahead.  "Time to have a nice little nap."

"WAIT."  There was an urgency in Agamemnon's robotic voice.  "I WANT MY PRIZE.  I WANT MY HONOUR.  I WANT MY GLORY. I AM THE KING."

"You may be _the_ King.  You may even be _a King._ But I have no need for articles definite or otherwise.  For I. AM. KING!"

A screen sputtered out suddenly.  The eye on the remaining screens darted nervously from side to side as each one fizzled and died, the voice of the computerised monarch dying away with each one and becoming ever more incoherent.

"PRISONERS.  LISTeN.  I HAD NO CHOIce.  THEy Had NOWhere ELSe To Go.  THEY HaD NO House BUt WEre USinG MiNE.  DELUSION BLIndED M-"

At last, all the screens died out.  The voice faded to nothingness, along with the light in the room.  The robot behind Timokleia made a strange clunking noise before falling quiet.

The voice spoke again.  "Foolish machine.  All King Agamemnon needed to do was gain control of Plataea before joining in alliance with me and handing it over.  We have an agreement, we supply him with spies and funds, all is going well... and then he says he will not sell it for 150 drachmae!  Of course we cannot have direct involvement in your petty affairs.  And then _you_ all turn up in the same place at once.  I have waited for this moment for years."  Again, the skittering noise.  Something loomed large out of the shadows.  Something large... and possessing of many, many limbs that twitched.  "This was a handy little excuse for us all to have another get together, really.  A little catch-up."

"Nicias," murmured Timokleia, "I hope you're ready."

"Indeed," came the reply.

"Alcibiades?"

"A bit rusty, but I'll manage.  Also hello?"

It finally came out of the shadows.  Its mandibles thrashed in the air as it reared on its hind legs and let out a hideous chitter.  Its abdomen was plated with armour; each of its front legs wielded laser weaponry.  Behind it swarmed unidentifiable horrors, both small and large.

" _Persians_." Timokleia almost spat the word.  "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

The Persian spoke, whistling through its jaws, still raised up and ready to kill.  "I am Xerxes.  King of the Persian Empire.  Son of Darius."

"Darius!" said Alcibiades, a little too cheerily.  "Where's the old bastard gone, then?"

"Dead," wailed the enormous creature, "but not forgotten.  Vengeance!  Vengeance for what you stole from Susa!  Vengeance for defiling our temples!  Vengeance shall be ours!  ATTACK!"

"NOW!" shouted Timokleia.

Nicias, still untied, struck itself with a mighty crash on its chest.  The resulting stress on its quartz released an arc of electricity that crackled and whipped above them, lancing to hitherto unforeseen cables that connected the now dormant video screens together.  Each one lit up in a overloaded fury of bright white light, flashing blindingly above the hordes of Persians that were ready to flow forward at Xerxes's command.  A horrific, eldritch squeal rose up from the mob.

Timokleia grabbed for Alcibiades's hand and then lunged behind her to where she hoped there would be an exit.  

Unsurprisingly she had been relieved of her gun by Agamemnon’s sentries; also unsurprisingly, this was not the only gun Timokleia had on her person, as she released the catch on the hidden mechanism up her sleeve and a slimline laser blaster slid into her free hand. She deftly flicked it to “wide” setting and fired it behind her, cutting a swathe of destruction through the rampaging insectoids swarming towards her.

“Run!  Keep running!” she shouted to Alcibiades, who stumbled slightly as he tried to keep pace. Nicias moved at surprising speed for something so crystalline, thumping and shaking the room with each step.

On they ran, through labyrinthine organic corridors overlaid with bizarre constructions made out of metallic junk and wreckage from ships that had presumably belonged to other intruders. Light fluctuated from above as bioluminescent plankton-esque creatures reacted in shock to them racing away, swaying above them and casting eerie shadows on the walls.  The noise from the Persians was deafening as they caterwauled and chittered, screeching in agony with each blast from Timokleia’s laser. Amidst them, born aloft by countless slave-creatures, was Xerxes, blasting wildly, sending arcs of light flashing down the corridor.  They pinged harmlessly off Nicias’s exoskeleton, instead causing further sparks of electricity to leap about in fierce flaming crackles.

“Have you got any idea where we’re going?” shouted Alcibiades above the din.

“Haven’t you?” she shouted back.

“Do you think I have a bloody clue where they took me after they arrested me?  Even if I did, I wasn’t being hounded by the elite forces of a murderous emperor, was I?”

A line of Persians charged, riding Mycenaean steeds that seemed to be half-aquatic, half-equine, fins and four legs lolloping and flailing as they rushed towards them. 

“Forgive me, but I must… I…” Alcibiades caught his breath for a moment, with his sentence lost somewhere in the cacophony… ”…ask you whether it is possible for us to overcome the Persians. There are, after all, an absolute _fuckton_ of them trying to kill us, and we have no clue where we’re going.”

“We don’t need to,” said Timokleia, “we’ll make our own escape.”

There was a beep in her ear.  “Locked on to your position!” said Hina.  In the background there was a mournful cry – “Teaaaaaaaaaa?”

“Beam us out!” she shouted, letting loose another volley of lethal laser fire.

“Beam us sodding well out?” Alcibiades was exasperated. “Why in the name of the entire pantheon of gods did you not do that before?”

“Didn’t know where you were,” said Timokleia, as she felt the pull of matter transference.  “Sorry.”

The three fugitives blinked out of sight in an instance as they were teleported onto the _Pneumata,_ leaving a howling Xerxes behind in the depths of Mycenae. There would be hell to pay.

But that… was another story.

= 

“I’ve got no money.”  Alcibiades drank a cup of tea; Hopōs quivered expectantly at his shoulder.

“Noted.”  Nicias monitored the systems, speaking only abruptly.

“I’ll pay you back when we get to Athens, I swear. Assuming I can sort out these negotiations with Thebes we’ll be flush.”

“Noted.”

“Nice to see you too.”

"Indeed."

“So,” said Timokleia, a smile on her face. “What’s the plan?”

“Well, first of all I’m going to have a very long bath.”  Alcibiades kicked his feet up onto a nearby control console, startling Hōs who was running diagnostics nearby.  “Then I think I'll pay a visit to Socrates.  I'm  _dying_ for a shag."

Timokleia laughed briefly.  "Enough.  Now explain.  You were dead.  Now you're quite clearly not.  I did some things I'm not proud of because of it."

"Now that," said Alcibiades, "is another story."

The _Pneumata_ powered on through space.  The stars shone.  It was a long way home.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally tagged with Florence and the Machine, but the links are too tenuous in the end. The title still stands, however.


End file.
